


Tomorrow Might Bleed

by MoriartyIsSmart



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sad Tony, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Why do I do this, a single man, as it's based off a single man, happy ending ish, suicide references throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartyIsSmart/pseuds/MoriartyIsSmart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the first time in his life, Tony couldn't see his future. Every day went by in a mindless blur, he had no purpose, nothing. He wasn't striving for anything, just simply living in the past, and it was slowly eating him alive."</p><p>Tony had always described himself as a futurist, but when a tragic event leaves him at a loss, the world doesn't feel real and Tony can't pick himself off the ground.</p><p>A Single Man AU nobody wanted, but I wrote anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Might Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of the incredibly moving "A Single Man" which ruined me and led me to writing this as soon as it finished, because it ripped my heart out of my throat. Although you don't have to have seen the movie to understand the plot (although you really should, it's amazing).
> 
> I don't own anything, no copyright infringement intended, the usual.
> 
> This isn't beta'd, so all mistakes are mine, hope you enjoy!

Deafening, ear-splitting gunshots. The sound of a choked off gasp, knees hitting the floor. Steve falling in slow motion, curling in on himself and trying to relieve the pain that had obviously seized him. Blood weaving itself around Steve's fingers from where his hand was clasped on his heart, dripping rhythmically onto the floor.

Tony heard a distant scream, before realising it was torn from his own throat, but he didn't feel it. He was numb, suspended. He couldn't move as Steve slowly wheezed his last breath.

Tony felt his legs move like clockwork, taking steady strides over to where his love was laying, crouching down before laying beside him, taking in his lifeless eyes and blood trickling down the tracks of his face. He reached out to hold...

* * *

Tony awoke with a start, gulping and gasping for breath. His fingers clenched on the sheets of his bed, as he silently realised where he was. Tense muscles relax and a shaky sigh escapes him. He stares at the expanse of ceiling above him, letting the migraine pound his head, hearing his blood roar in his ears. He doesn't let go of the bed sheets.

However, he soon felt something wet at his fingertips and his eyebrows crinkled in confusion. 

Wet, black ink. It was pooled in the white sheets of his bed, crumpled up pieces of paper surrounding the standard issue pen. 

He blearily recalls the letters he was writing, not that much progress was made, mind you, judging by the paper scattered everywhere.

He brings his hand to his face, brushing an index finger against his lips. He can still feel the ghost of a phantom kiss. It stings. 

He closed his eyes, fingers still floating above his lips. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Soon, he told himself.

Soon. 

 

* * *

 

For the past eight months now, waking up has actually hurt. The harsh realisation that he still continues to wake up, that he's still here.

He never did like waking up. Steve used to be up and about once the first alarm had rang, whereas Tony grumbled loudly and turned his face even further into the pillow, hitting the snooze button and ignoring the sunlight that filtered in through his curtains. 

Steve would always laugh at him, a soft sound that never failed to warm Tony's heart, before pottering about as quietly as possible so not to disturb Tony. 

He always got up at the last possible moment. Steve always said it was a complete miracle that he actually turned up at all.

Now, waking up was even worse. 

He hears the distant sounds of a phone ringing. He ignores it. 

He has a routine in the morning. A routine that allows him to adopt the personality of his past self, the personality of Tony Stark. Exemplary, but charming, Tony Stark. 

He eases himself out of the bed, feet hitting the carpeted floor and heading into the en suite for his daily shower and shave, making sure his appearance is faultless. 

His eyes refuse to meet a lonely toothbrush next to his own, cologne sitting on the side, never to be used again, a razor he only associates with the ghost of one passed. 

Ignoring his reflection, he steps into the bedroom, opening up his wardrobe and, once again, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the array of colourful clothing that he had never bought. He takes out one of his more worn suits, gripping it in his hands, before folding it into his arms. He closed his eyes briefly, willing old memories to the back of his mind, before taking a deep breath and releasing it, closing the wardrobe. 

He dresses for the day, brushing out any creases in his suit, before eventually looking at his reflection in the mirror. He stares, anchored, at the faint press of ink on his bottom lip, transferred from his finger. It's dark, like a bruise, like a tattoo, a permanent reminder.

It looks like blood.

"Just get through the god damn day," he growls to himself.

* * *

Tony slowly trudges downstairs, sweeping passed the array of letters carefully arranged at the table, he was only halfway finished with them all. A striking pain suddenly hits him as he's walking and he reaches a hand to his heart, trying to soothe the shooting pains in the area. 

This had been happening regularly now, but Tony didn't worry about it, didn't need to. It didn't matter. The pain was nothing compared to the heavy grief resting on his shoulders and in his lungs. 

He rested his head against a shelf, hand still on his heart and eyes scrunched. He reconstructed his shirt and brushed it down, heaving out a breath as if it were a chore.

For the first time in his life, Tony couldn't see his future. Every day went by in a mindless blur, he had no purpose, nothing. He wasn't striving for anything, just simply living in the past, and it was slowly eating him alive.

The only thing he hears clearly nowadays is the sound of Steve's crisp laughter, repeating itself over and over in his mind. It was almost as if it was coming from right beside him. 

It wasn't. 

It took one person, one person, to come into his life and show him what he'd been missing. One person to radically change the way he'd seen himself and the world, and show him what it is to actually live, not just survive. 

It took one person to be ripped away from his hands for his world of colour to be plunged into a universe of darkness. 

Tony closes his eyes and loses himself in the ringing of gunshots and the memory of stark, red blood.

* * *

The phone continued to ring incessantly. There would be a few seconds of blessed silence before the piercing sound of bells jangling would take over again. Tony huffed an irritated sigh and roughly picked up the phone, bringing it to his ear.

"Hello, Natasha,"

"How did you know it was me?" 

"No one else rings at this time in the morning." 

"Ah, good. I'm checking if we're still on for today, and I'm telling you Stark, you're not going to back off easily," Natasha scolded. "I've already made reservations." 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and puffed an exasperated sigh. 

"Fine. Anything you want me to bring?" 

"Nope. Just your usual wad of cash, you're paying."

He could practically hear Natasha's smug grin travel through his phone, and shook his head, albeit slightly fondly. 

"See you later, Nat." 

"Bye, Tony." 

He hung up and put his mobile into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, losing himself in a train of thought as he stared across his kitchen. 

He no longer lived in Avengers tower, he couldn't bear to see everything in its normal place, as if nothing happened. As if Tony's world hadn't stopped completely and thrown everything off balance, as if time hadn't stopped and the future hadn't disappeared. 

Seeing Steve's books neatly stacked by his night table, seeing the bookmark reserving a page that would never be read again. Reserving a spot for a dead man that will never find out the ending of that book, the ending was cut short, much like Steve's own.

He was sure he heard the soft sound of shuffling feet and clicking lights on the stairs. He didn't. 

That is why he didn't live there anymore. He was too present there, fenced in, trapped in an empty room filled with empty promises.

Tony shook himself out of his trance, schooling the despaired expression on his face into neutrality. 

Of course, the Avengers still had the tower to themselves, that was their home, and Tony was more than happy to give it up to them completely. They were his team, and he was never going to kick them out of the lives they had managed to build. Plus, it wasn't any of the others fault that Tony couldn't bear to glance at the place without feeling his stomach churn and bile rise up in his throat. 

Tony insisted that none of them move in with him. He was better off this way after all, alone. He kept himself to himself and refused to let anyone in anymore. Look what happened to the last person he loved... 

He curled his hands into fists, the crescents of his nails pressing imprints into the skin of his palm. He inhaled deeply, before straightening his posture and relaxing his hands. 

He slapped on his signature charming, cheeky grin and made his way out of the door a completely different person. No one would see past the facade anyway. 

If you looked closely, the bags underneath Tony's eyes were clearly visible; the heavy set of his shoulders, resigned, defeated; the small tremor in his left hand, his dominant one. 

But, no one ever looked closely enough. 

He closed the door behind the comforts of his home and ventured out into the bleak world. 

* * *

Tony was running, his feet were pounding, hammering on the pavement, the sound of his own erratic heartbeat and harsh breathing washing out the sound of the rain surrounding him.

The rain was pelting into his skin, but he couldn't feel it. His hair was dripping, mangled over his forehead and his shirt was soaked through to his skin, sticking, but he didn't care. He couldn't shake the feeling of disorientation. 

Steve was dead, he was dead, and Tony would never see him again. 

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, nothing felt real. It couldn't be real. This was a nightmare, this was hell, perdition and the devil had released his own personal form of torture. It felt like a sick, twisted nightmare. 

Tony didn't know where his feet were taking him, before he ended up at SHIELD and Natasha's arms were enveloping him whole as he sank to his knees, his legs unable to hold him anymore. His body was leaden with grief, realisation finally replacing the numbness. Tony had watched as Steve's heart stopped and his own kept beating. He hated the sound of his own pulse. 

Tony let out a silent scream, as Natasha cradled the back of his head, stroking his hair. He sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed into her shoulder, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to retain his normal lung capacity. His chest was heavier than it had ever been, the weight of his loss pressing against his rib cage incessantly. 

Natasha brushed a gentle kiss against his cheek. 

* * *

Tony met Natasha for lunch at a local restaurant, a box of chocolates settled in his arm, as he gave the Russian a kiss on the cheek. 

Natasha took the extended gift and smiled, tucking them under her arm. "My favourites, though you already knew that, I'm sure. Come on, the table's waiting for us." 

Tony let himself be dragged into the restaurant, sitting down at the booth he and Nat used to regularly frequent before everything had turned to ashes in Tony's life. They used to sit right here, every week, and watch the world pass by through the large glass window situated beside them. They would laugh about the most recent mission, how T'Challa had pranked Clint that week and how Clint sulked about it, they laughed and they were happy.

Tony ordered his usual of sausage and tomato pasta, whilst Natasha ordered margarita pizza, and if Tony ended up drinking a lot of wine, nobody could fault him. 

He ended up feeling pleasantly buzzed, hearing real laughter being emitted from his throat for the first time, since... Since that day. He was near enough grinning at the stories of Natasha's recent and past missions. And although he didn't feel whole, he certainly didn't feel empty that night.

And before he knew it, hours had passed and Natasha was holding her hand out expectantly for the cash, her eyebrow raised and her mouth cast in a cheeky smirk. He raised his own eyebrow, before passing it over, and Natasha was counting out his share and giving him the rest back, digging her own money out of her pocket.

"I don't like you for your money, Tony, obviously I was kidding, wondered if you'd pull through. Buy yourself something nice." She winked, before throwing her coat over her and gesturing him out of the restaurant. He followed suite, grabbing his own coat, and hovering outside of his car. Nat leaned over to give him a parting hug. 

"Thanks, Nat." 

"You're welcome." 

She shot Tony a warm smile and waved to him from behind her shoulder as she began to make her way home.

* * *

Later that night, his suit jacket was thrown haphazardly and tie removed (he felt like it was choking him), Tony was curled up on his couch, tablet in hand and words in his head, trying to think of personalised goodbyes for everyone he cared about it, it was the least they deserved, before there was a knock on his door. 

Tony frowned, confusion rising. Nobody ever came to see him anymore, especially not at this time of night. He cautiously rose to his feet, making sure to cover up the letters on his table and the gun on his night stand, prepped and ready. He slowly made his way to the door, opening it a crack to peep his eye through. 

Rhodey was standing there, an eyebrow cocked. 

"Tony." 

"Rhodey, what the hell are you doing here?" 

"I've been discharged for a month, got shot in the shoulder." 

Tony gaped, spotting how Rhodey seemed to be favouring one side and holding one arm stiffly against his chest. 

"Shit." 

"Yeah. Can I come in?" 

Before long, they found themselves sprawled on the floor, ACDC playing through the overhead speakers and Tony found he had a smile on his face. He can barely remember the last time he smiled this much in one day since Steve wasn't around.

The thought sat heavily in his mind and guilt welled up in his lungs. He knew Steve wouldn't want him to be this way, wouldn't want him to feel as if the Earth had tilted on its axis and left him falling, falling into nothing but darkness and empty promises. But, as Rhodey kept telling stories of his time in the war, stories of both warmth and of sadness, Tony found himself immersed more in interest and fond affection for the friend he hadn't seen in so long and focusing less on the guilt that had began to eat him alive. 

That night, after Tony pulled a blanket over Rhodey's sleeping form on his couch, he retreated to his room and immediately eyed the gun sat almost innocently on his bedside cabinet. He picked it up, thumb clasped over the safety, before placing it back on the side. Today had been the best day he'd had in a long, long time and he didn't want Rhodey to have to clean up his mess.

So, he went to bed with a slightly clearer head and a sharp pain in the left hand side of his chest.

Maybe he could hang on a little longer. 

* * *

The night passed, and in the end, it was his heart that killed him. A heart attack. 

As ironic as it was, his heart failing him seemed only fitting, seeing as it was already breaking. His heart had caused him too much grief over the years.

He let the pain overtake him, as he was lay on the soft carpet of his room, Rhodey a few rooms away, sleeping peacefully. the pain pulsed steadily, blinding him as he tried to breathe through it.

The situation was quite inopportune. Just as he was on the edge of the first stage of accepting Steve's death, his body decides to defy his brain.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live a full life without him anyway. 

With what little strength he had, Tony gripped the metal dog tags chained around his neck where 'Steve Rogers' was engraved and traced the letters with his fingertip, savouring the feeling of cold metal whilst he still could. 

There were few moments of absolute clarity in Tony's life, where the noise is drowned out and his mind quietened and he can feel, rather than think. These moments are few and far between, but are so precious; everything is sharp and comes into focus and they pull him back into the present, make him feel alive.

And as Tony was breathing his last few dwindling breaths, one of these moments came to him, and he realised that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.

When he flutters his eyes open for the final time, Steve is there. He's leaning over him, a thoughtful smile tugging on the corner of his lips. Tony tries to reach, but his body weighs him down and he finds he can't move anymore, but Steve leans down, his eyes brimming with gentle affection and he brushes their lips together.

It doesn't hurt anymore.


End file.
